


Ego vs Conscience

by CampionSayn



Series: Alieni Generis [1]
Category: Transformers Animated (2007), Transformers: Armada
Genre: Gen, Hinted reincarnation, Sabotage, Verbal Humiliation, shadowplay, with art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 03:59:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3753676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CampionSayn/pseuds/CampionSayn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some people just need to be put in their place. Some people cannot remain in the shadows forever. Few people know when to recognize the timing for either without a little push. Originally from ff.net. Part of a series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ego vs Conscience

 

_-:-_  
_They are not my fellows. The inextinguishable power of life in my frame, and their ephemeral existence, place us wide as the poles asunder._  
_-The Mortal Immortal, Mary Shelley._

_-:-_  
_We suspect there is more of a story to you._  
_-The Hollow Men._

* * *

_For many a person, human, Bot, Con, Neutral, organic, inorganic, it is difficult and unbearable to go without friendship for a long time. To go without friendship, actually, might be the wrong way to put it._

_To go without contact from another being, would be more accurate. It drives one hazy and then sad and then mad, until, perhaps, they adjust to the situation or die._

_Dying was not an option, in some cases. Death would not assist in certain matters where there were things to do._

_Orange paint reflected what little starlight was left in the universe. Clinking of stone to metal resounded as fingers played with a chain and its precious space rock. Just above the hovering ship coasting over solitary planet in the Milky Way system, a shadow of a figure waited patiently to feel that rocking wave of eternity turning in on itself so things could be razed like scorched earth and evaporated water and then bring itself back up from nothing._

_The little stone on the chain, maintained and cared for more than any possession ever had been aside from the ones that could give or take life, stilled in black servos._

_' **...Won't be too long now.'**_

* * *

[ _Remove Sentinel from the position of Magnus.]_

Mirage hadn't expected to get so giddy over a transmission from the eldest of his tribe after one that had only barely happened months ago, but, then, rarely was the request for something he would take utter enjoyment in.

The situation had taken place terribly quickly, but that was no problem. He'd simply told the council and the attending Magnus  _(such disgust sat itself so deep in his tanks at that title in connection to that mech, it was hard for Mirage to keep his continence a pleasant spectacle; face plates staying in a modest smile instead of crinkling at the edges into lines of a frown—not good for his fair complexion at all)_  to meet him in the conference room of the intelligence offices and spread the word to Cliffjumper to keep the telecoms ready and invite as many as wanted to come. There were plenty of seats, after all, and opinions would need to be considered on all sides if this were to be done right.

The red mini-bot had seemed highly disturbed when he'd asked what the meeting was going to be about, but he believed it for what it was, rather than as a joke, because as far back as he could remember, Mirage never lied to him. And he didn't really joke, either, not about things that would lead to a political hassle that eventually devolved into something similar to an exploded bomb site.

If Cliffjumper had any objections to what was going to happen though, he didn't say anything.

As a matter of fact, Mirage mused as he looked from his standing position on one of the podiums of the stands that were set up at the suggestion of Alpha Trion, the red intelligence head had seemed to make a point of getting a seat in the front row, as close to Mirage as possible. Not an easy task, as the news of what was happening had spread quickly and most of the seats had quickly been taken up within the hour of the message being sent out. All of the seats had been taken within the fifteen minute mark of when the tribunal  _(Alpha Trion's words, not Mirage's)_  was to begin and blue optics spotted some femmes and mechs standing along the walls along the sides and the back of the large room.

Within the second of the appointed meeting time, Sentinel, on the other side of the stand at his own podium where it seemed he meant to defend himself from any suggestions that he wasn't suited to be in power, started off. Grandstanding and face plates heated in what was probably embarrassment at so many Autobots looking down at him to see if he was going to be taken from his position.

' _Good_ ,' Mirage mentally grinned, ready in no absolute terms for whatever was going to be thrown at him. He'd been bored at his post for too long.

"How dare you make the suggestion that I am not fit to lead the Autobots!"

Mirage winced at the volume of the large blue mech, but didn't stop looking directly at him, not intimidated in the least as Sentinel probably hoped, "It's not a suggestion, Sentinel Prime. It's a fact. As it is, you shouldn't even be a  _Prime_ , let alone a  _Magnus_  and it shows in most of what you've been doing since Ultra was attacked and put on spark support."

Mumbles echoed along the lines and rows of Autobots, most of the ones up front, including the Council, Sentinel's former subordinates upon the Steelhaven and Optimus Prime  _(joy of joys, he'd picked up from protecting Earth, hopped through the space bridge and gotten there just to watch this event—Mirage looked directly at him and shuttered his optics before turning back to the matter at hand)_ remaining silent, except Alpha, who leaned forward and put forth an order that was closer in tone to a question he wasn't sure he wanted to hear out loud, "Mirage, sir, please explain by what you mean by Sentinel being ineffectual in his duties."

"I would think that would be fairly obvious, but if I must," Mirage shrugged—body language he didn't usually indulge in as most Cybertronians took it as an inadequate gesture, or a glitch, but he didn't care for the moment, or ever, truly.

He tapped a few buttons on the datapad he'd brought along and turned on the monitor that encompassed the front wall of the room like a giant projection screen. Sentinel's orders of a curfew, his propaganda films, his quarantine protocols and other ruling orders since he'd been made temporary Magnus lit up the screen. A few more buttons tapped and some of the main problems were highlighted; but behind all of the obvious files, Mirage kept a couple screens in reserve for questions he had good faith in coming up sooner rather than later. Mostly his failure to actually train the required number of bots in boot camp and the incident with Wasp and Shockwave; which Mirage looked forward to.

"These are the most obvious problems that arose with Sentinel in charge of the Autobots and the ones that I have disbanded and repealed in just the last few da—I mean, orbital-cycles."

Cybertronian concepts of time were so trivial.

"You did what-?!"

"The propaganda films were needless and fear mongering, setting about a state of panic that took its toll on the members of the Elite Guard, as well as most of Cybertron in general. Honestly, I think you only had these sent out because you love the sound of your own voice and the sight of yourself on screen."

It took a moment for Sentinel to realize that, yes, Mirage—the almost petite, femme-esque intelligence bot that hadn't spoken more than fifteen words to Sentinel at any given time since Sentinel's promotions up the chain of command, who maintained only moderate contact with the Elite Guard in a general way and avoided the Science Division like an infestation of diseased turborats, while simultaneously being called into private meetings with Ultra Magnus more times than Sentinel dared to recall—was insulting him  _to his face_  and wasn't the least bit ashamed of it. And then he realized that he should have probably denied that statement, but then Mirage kept going.

"That curfew was pointless as many Cybertronians can't stand being cooped up in their homes for too long; it makes them stir-crazy and more likely to be worthless in a fight if the Decepticons had invaded. You allowed your own personal bias towards organics to massively ruin and remove anything that could have been used to strengthen the Autobots in areas not previously considered over. All of the other orders that you gave on a whim—court marshals, entry into boot camp exemptions and other things I could list, but that would get real boring absurdly fast..."

* * *

Cliffjumper braced tight and back into his seat, half out of his mind with curiosity at where Mirage got the brass bearings to bring Sentinel up on disciplinary questioning. Half of him kept looking back from the blue and white noble—he assumed he was a noble, anyway; his look and disposition never leading him to think anything otherwise and Mirage never rebuking the red mini calling him such—to the others bots Mirage glanced at, pointedly and fierce for three-quarters of a nano-clik before going back to the topic at hand.

It was frightening seeing Mirage return to the state of being he had maintained before the war. Self-assured, well versed in facts, so very much in the right that had Cliffjumper not been around him as much as he had been in the last vorns, the head of intelligence would have been out of his seat accusing Mirage of being up to something at top volume.

But he wasn't going to do that for the moment. He would just keep recording this meeting and later ponder over how Mirage barely looked at Sentinel when he told him what a fragged-up job he had been doing as temporary- _'And let's make sure to emphasize that you shouldn't have even been in the military commanding seat for as long as you have been. But you keep postponing your appointment with the Council because of some so-called emergency, giving you a little longer in this position of power you have never earned the right to in the first place,'_ -Magnus.

Mirage kept looking in contempt at Alpha Trion and the vast majority of the Science Division, the light in his optics going darker than Cliffjumper ever saw anyone's optics turn short of just turning off whenever they made contact with Perceptor; the edges of his facial plates turning inward to show his sharper denta for a micro-cycle before appearing to go lax when he looked at Optimus Prime or Jazz. Pity showed at the edges of his visage but didn't linger as he got back to the topic at hand.

Emotion on Mirage was a dizzying sight. Even if it was just for a nano-clik

* * *

A tiny, microscopic part of Optimus wanted to take pleasure in somebot finally coming down like an avenging god from on high to smack Sentinel down off the—as humans put it—high horse the blue mech spent all his time parading around on, but... It seemed like the longer this thing went on, the harder it was for it to get a jump-start to actually give him anything akin to delight.

He agreed, absolutely, that Sentinel should not be a Magnus, but to demote him from Prime back to Minor seemed like some cruel joke. The mech wasn't humble, or pleasant to be around for long stretches of time, but given the right direction to be sent in, he could get a job done right. He could fight along with the best troopers and he was good with the organization of some things...

"Does this seem a little harsh, OP?"

Optimus looked over at Jazz and saw how tensed up the ninja-bot was, fists on either side of him on the arm rests of his seat clenched into tight fists that were probably denting the inside of his servos, his face grave and his spinal strutting ramrod straight.

Bumblebee, had he been there, would have proclaimed that Jazz was  _pissed_.

_'At least Sentinel has one other friend,'_  the fire truck sighed internally before answering verbally, low whisper just between him and Jazz and nobody else in the front row.

"It is. It may be necessary, but, yeah."

Denta grit tighter inside Jazz's mouth and light flashed bright in his visor just before his back loosened and he sagged into his seat much like any insufferable human teenager that knew they weren't going to get their way.

* * *

_[It's done.]_

The single computer screen that actually worked at full power in the base far under the ground of the Meskendir Valley in Turkey flickered twice before the light turned off and the computer turned down.

The message wouldn't be received for a while, of that Mirage was sure when he looked through the screen into the room his message had been sent to.

It would be a while, if ever, until he got further orders on this incident but, chestplates open in his dark office and no light coming from him that would give away what he was doing, Mirage was content with a job well done.

His servos dipped into his own open frame, thumbs curving around what made him a person, but not a real Cybertronian. Deep grey that accented his own coloring thrummed under his touch, and then made a movement outwards and then inwards.

_Beat. Beat. Beat._

Mirage closed his chestplates and decided his office chair was as good a place as any to recharge for the evening. He had a feeling that if he tried to leave the intelligence offices of the Autobot Elite, a couple pesky mechs would follow him home and he didn't care for that.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally part of a chapter fic over at ff.net, but I think that it serves better in tiny little pieces so I can play with the characters in better way. Mirage especially.
> 
> Edited because I commissioned the awesome, wonderful, fantastic transformerwannabe.tumblr ((bless her forever and ever)) for a pic that she bedazzled me with and it needed to go here where it belongs. ^^


End file.
